In Three Blinks
by Urau
Summary: AU; Taylor Rhodes' whole life changed when her Hogwarts invitation letter arrived; the only link she had to her past was a note from her mother's and even with that as the only clue, she was determined to find her family and question why she was abandoned years ago. Possible HarryxOC
1. Chapter 1

**In Three Blinks**

**Chapter 1**

_Take care of the child where I cannot_

~ Thalia Mauve Rhodes

My name is Taylor Meridian Rhodes. I'm eleven years old, and up until a few months ago, I was a normal kid. Well, as normal as an anti-social kid could be. I knew, without anyone telling me, that I was a troubled kid. I also knew that the matron of the orphanage was sincerely regretting taking me in per my mother's request. I try not to think about Thalia Mauve Rhodes – and it was easy because I had no idea how she looked like or what sort of person she was, other than the fact that she couldn't take care of her own kid – because, if it wasn't for her, I might not be who I am now.

Anyway, I caused so much trouble when I was kid, the matrons sent me away to a private boarding school once. Yes, it's for troubled kids. Like me.

But as troubled as they were, there was no doubt that they were rich kids who caused trouble just to get their parents to notice them instead of devoting themselves to work.

I was different from them.

I'm pretty sure none of them had accidents like I do. Not one of them could make glass shatter upon entering a room; I don't think they can make their teacher's face turn a rainbow-color just by imagining it; I sincerely doubt that they could change their hair color, from purple to pink, maybe. Personally, my favorite hair color was black and purple so I mashed them up and stuck with it.

I came to notice a few things: when my hair turn color every day when I was really young, no one seemed to bat an eyelash. I wouldn't have noticed this – the lesser trouble I'm in, the better – but one of the older kids in the orphanage came back after dying their hair, and Bradley got his hide tanned by our matron.

The matrons, on the other hand, acted as if my hair was a natural brown.

Weird – but I ain't complaining.

I never got an explanation for strange things like these: almost magical.

That is, of course, until a few months back where I nearly died.

I got along spectacularly with _me, myself_ and_ I_ in the orphanage where everyone else hated my guts. Grace Henderson and her gang was out to get me since day one. We were seven when we first met and I accidentally shoved her into a puddle of mud, and though I apologized (through gritted teeth), she maintained the opinion I did it on purpose and she was out for revenge since then.

Anyway, Grace confronted me on the way home. In an effort to (torture me) have us get along better, the matrons signed us up for the same public school. Grace knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The head matron had threatened me with death by suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened this week.

"Move," I spat, not looking forward to a whole month of privileges being invoked. I hadn't restrain myself from shoving kids into the drain just to get punish in the end. "I have nothing to say to you."

Grace sneered. "But I do."

"Then get on with it." I crossed my arms, frowning up at her.

"Today's your birthday, isn't it?"

I raked my eyes across the streets, seeing the bookstore across from me and the newspaper section was clearly visible from where I was standing. Yep, it was August 31st. "So?" I wondered, sighing heavily.

"I've got to give you a birthday present, don't I? Old friends and all," she simpered. What makes matter worse? She actually looked _pretty_ doing that. I only had time to blink after she said that before my face was splattered with mud. Only then did I realize she was wearing gloves. "Oops," she said, gasping in mock-surprise. "Sorry, wrong gift."

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times to count to ten, get control of my temper and don't do anything rash but I was so mad my mind went blank. Thunder roared in my ears and the next thing I knew, sparks were flying – the lamppost was malfunctioning. It sparked with electricity – I heard Grace screaming and running away – and it crashed in her direction.

"Levitate!"

My jaw dropped, eyes widening to an impossible size when the lamppost changed course last second, crashing next to Grace, sending her running in another direction. My first thought was that she's going to reach the orphanage before me and I'd get killed by the matron who'd always been prejudiced against me. The next thought was that, a strange cloaked woman was standing before me, brandishing a stick.

"Whoa." I recoiled. A third thought struck me and I said, "Whatever happened, it didn't happen. It wasn't me."

It used to work: when I got in trouble once and told the witness he didn't see me, and when questioned, he really didn't had recollection about what I'd done.

The stern-looking woman looked a little amused, her lips quirking slightly. "A wandless Confundus would not work on me." Seeing my increasingly insulted expression, she added with a larger smile now: "Not yet. But after you're through with your school year, I'm sure you could Confund me."

"I... don't understand," I said flatly. It pained me greatly to say this as I'm not used to not knowing. I frowned at her; I didn't feel any malicious intent but she wasn't the definition of normal either.

"I apologize for confusing you, I have been following you for a while now –"

"You a kidnapper? Who are you? Get straight to the point!"

"My name is Minerva McGonagall – but you shall refer to me as Professor McGonagall – and I am a teacher from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." I opened my mouth, about to tell her how insane she was, when she continued, "Shall we leave? We need to buy your school supplies. As term starts tomorrow, I'm afraid we're running out of time to buy your equipment when you have to be on the train by eleven tomorrow."

"I don't –" I spluttered. "What school? I have no money and that hag Smith would never agree to this! Especially when the school sounds like a place for delusional people – _witchcraft and wizardry_? Please – "

"Magic is the only explanation as to why you are able to cause so many incidents – unfortunate to Muggles but it is nothing short for a cause to celebrate in the Wizarding World – Muggles are what we wizard call non-magical people, in other sense of word, they are unlike us," she said when she saw my open mouth.

I glanced at the bookstore. August 31st – did I mention how much I hate this day? Of all days, the matron had to chose the day I was abandoned on her footstep. Not only no one celebrated or wish me well, weird things happen: like today.

"Assuming you're telling the truth," I said slowly. "I..." What did I want to say? Even if she did tell the truth, what now? "Why now, after all these years?" I demanded. "Why didn't you come when I started showing these signs of... of..." I didn't think _abnormality_ was a nice way to describe who I was as well. "...of magic."

"Young witches and wizards are admitted into a school of magic at the age of eleven. That is the law in Britain. Follow me, Ms. Rhodes, we shall talk as we walk. We're heading to the Leaky Cauldron – visible only to our kind and it is the border to the wizarding world from the Muggle world – if you're wondering." She started walking at a brisk pace, beckoning impatiently for me to follow and I did. "Any questions?"

"Do you know my parents?" I blurted out. "I mean, this has to be hereditary... so, have you met them?" I tried not to sound too hopeful. But I must've failed terribly in hiding my emotions because Professor McGonagall was looking at me sympathetically.

"Rhodes is not the name of any wizarding family, I'm sorry, Ms. Rhodes, but you are a Muggle-born and I have never taught your parents."

I scowled, turning away. "OK, but what's a Muggle-born?"

"Your blood status," said McGonagall simply. "Muggle-born like you are children with non-magical parents; Half-bloods are a mixture of both Muggle and Pureblood; Purebloods are witches and wizards with a family full of wizards and witches, they hold themselves in high regard – but Ms. Rhodes, do not be discouraged, many Muggle-born are even more talented than Pure-blooded witches and wizards. Blood status are mattering less and less these days."

I tried to absorb as much as I can, keeping up with her strides, trying not to look too dumbfounded.

"There's a problem," I said abruptly as we made a sharp turn. "I don't have money to pay the school fee or buy any school supplies. And if you think Ma'am Smith will believe this cock-and-bull story, then you're sorely mistaken because she'd call the authorities to have you checked up and chuck into the loony bin – "

"We have special funds for orphans of full Muggle descent," said McGonagall kindly, patiently. She rummaged around in her cloak before extracting a letter which she handed to me.

I ripped the letter open, scanning the letter quickly. "I hope you'd point stuff out to me because I have absolutely no idea how these things look like." She nodded, assuring me that she'd help me. "How will Mrs. Smith agree to this? She hates my guts but she's obligated to make sure –"

"She's all taken care of," reassured McGonagall. "And we're here."

I raised my head to take in everything, wincing when mud got into my eyes. I hadn't scrubbed everything off yet. "Yuck, I'm go going to hex her for this," I growled, rubbing my eyes but McGonagall ushered me into the dinghy bar. She drew her wand, muttering a word _Scourgify_ and I felt the mud being scrubbed away by invisible hands. I eyed her wand hungrily; it had power, I could sense that. And perhaps, that was what that made me believe her, finally. "Awesome," I offered. "Where can I get one of my own?"

She eyed me cautiously. "Soon," she promised and she approached the barman, exchanging a few words with him; he grinned toothily at me before McGonagall gestured for me to follow her. She drew her wand again and tapped a brick. "This," she said. "is how you get into Diagon Alley – the most famous wizarding street in Britain and this is where students like you get all your supplies." She handed me a pouch of jingling stuff; I took it and peered in, inspecting oddly shaped coins. Seeing my questioning look, she started explaining all about Galleons, Sickles and Knuts.

I'd be damned if I could remember all of it.

We visited everywhere, buying my cauldron first so that I could hold my schoolbooks later. I was fitted out at Madam Malkin's which left me wondering which House I'd be Sorted into.

"Houses?" I asked, looking inquiringly at Professor McGonagall.

"The four Houses of Hogwarts: Gryffindor – which I was Sorted into once I was a student and am now the Head of House of; this house values bravery and loyalty – Hufflepuff – they treasure those of hard work and patience – Ravenclaw who appreciates wisdom and intelligence – and Slytherin who takes those of cunning and the ambitious purebloods."

"Which House is the best? In overall performance?"

There was a frown tugging on McGonagall's lips. "Slytherin had won the House and Quidditch Cups for seven years consecutively with Gryffindor in second place and Ravenclaw in the third, Hufflepuff – wonderful as they are – always come in last."

"I don't want to come in last," I said firmly. "I'm not going to join Hufflepuff, that's for sure. Ravenclaw sounds OK, it means that I won't have to talk to idiots, right?"

McGonagall sighed. "Just because students are not in Ravenclaw, it doesn't mean the rest are idiots, the Slytherins are cunning, which is as close to wisdom as you can get – "

"I might join Slytherin or Gryffindor..." I muttered, balancing my cauldron of stuff.

"The Sorting Hat will Sort you," said McGonagall simply. "We shall see which House you are in, then."

"Which House do you think I'd be in?"

"The Sorting Hat reads your mind –"

"What?" I demanded, eyes flashing. "But they're my private thoughts!"

"And the Hat won't go around shouting your deepest and darkest secrets out – relax, Ms. Rhodes." I scowled even harder when I detected the amusement in my would-be Professor's voice.

"I still don't like the sound of the Hat," I murmured stubbornly, shifting the cauldron to get a better view of where we'd stopped. McGonagall strode forward first, pushing the door open and holding it for me to maneuver into. "Ollivander's... OK, I want a very strong wand that could – "

"In the end, young lady, the wand chooses the wizard. I'm afraid you will have very little say in this." I jumped, nearly dropping my cauldron, as I whirled around to face the voice. An old man with a long beard and misty white eyes was peering at me. He nodded in polite acknowledgement to McGonagall but his attention was wholly on me.

I raised my eyes to the high shelves. "But what if I get a laughably weak wand?" I demanded.

"No wands in the right hands are weak – "

"But some wands are stronger," I interjected testily. "What are wands made of?" I asked when neither McGonagall or Ollivander could find anything to say.

"They are made of wand woods," Ollivander answered as he measured both my arms. "And wand cores. The most common cores here are dragon heartstring, unicorn hair and phoenix feather tail. There are, of course, other exotic and different cores I use but those three cores often leave my shop once they're born. What sort of wand wood do you recommend would fit this child's personality, Professor? Muggle-born students are harder than wizarding children, honestly, how Muggles raise their children these days..."

Professor McGonagall was watching me critically. "Rather forceful and domineering, she butts heads easily with others if that display with a fellow orphan is taken into consideration... so a terrible temper I must say; brave, open-minded and strongly opinionated, I suppose. But quite the shrewd sense of humor as well. I find myself enjoying your company, Ms. Rhodes," she said kindly.

"I still _want_ a strong wand," I said.

McGonagall sighed. "Add stubborn to the list."

"This way, this way..." Ollivander steered me away once the tape measure finished measuring me by itself. He threw shifty glances at McGonagall, and didn't speak until the teacher was completely obscured by the shelves. "I have a new selection of wands here... yes, very rare..." His eyes practically glinted. "I've been searching someone with a strong personality – not easily bullied, are we?"

"Yes..." I said uncertainly, wondering how much deeper into the shop do we have to go.

Go ahead, call me a total idiot for following a completely stranger into a shop. I was confident that if I screamed, though, Professor McGonagall would come running to my aid. Besides, this guy looked frail and old, I sincerely doubted he'd be much of a threat anyway. He looked like a gentle breeze would sent him flying. I'm sure my fist could send him flying further.

"Try this: Aspen wood with Mermaid's hair, thirteen inches and a half, unyielding – fiercely loyal and honorable, those Mer-people."

So Mermaids existed, I thought, why not? I took the offered wand, waving it about for a result. Nothing happened other than the fact I only managed to summon more dust to my face. I sneezed; the wand reacted; and I found myself toppling backwards from the force of the rejection. I spluttered, sneezing again, hearing Ollivander assuring a concerned McGongall that everything was fine.

"That," I said lightly, handing the wand back hastily to the disappointed wandmaker. "is probably its way to say it doesn't like me much."

Ollivander nodded, still looking disappointed, as he handed me another wand. A birch wand with a crystallized Boomslang's venom. Another wand with a chimera scale and other names I'd forgotten and had never heard of before. Honestly, Doxy's wings?

Ollivande snatched the Abraxan horse tail feather's wand away when the box caught fire. "No, no," he muttered. "How about this? Spruce and Acromantula's web..." He trailed off, casting a shifty glance at where McGonagall would be waiting, hidden by the shelves. "Oh, right – thirteen inches and supple."

"Isn't thirteen an unlucky number?" I wondered uneasily, gingerly accepting the wand, half-expecting for it to explode. It didn't. Rather, it was the first wand that didn't feel awkward in my hand. But it gave nothing excitable either. Ollivander was frowning, but his eyes glinted with interest.

"Maybe a simple spell would do the trick?"

Pinching my nose before pointing it at the dusty shelf, I said, "Scourgify," waving the wand in the same manner I'd seen McGonagall did. Foam burbled from where I'd pointed, covering the shelf and dripping to the wooden floor.

"My, my," said Ollivander, drawing his own wand from his sleeve. He didn't seem to mind, in fact, he looked delighted. He muttered something under his breath and the foam disappeared. "Now, off you go."

My hand, which was already half-way to my pouch to retrieve Galleons, stilled. I frowned, confused. "Don't I have to pay?" Not that I was complaining. I'd like to save as much money as possible.

"No, no – er, consider this charity."

I swallowed with some difficulty; my pride refused to accept charity no matter how much I needed it. "Charity?" I spat, voice higher than intended; I was sure my eyes were flashing again. I can't help that my eyes and hair were that colorful. Come to think of it, this may be magic as well. "I..." My eyes narrowed when I saw his eyes darting wildly to where McGonagall was waiting. "What _is_ an Acromantula? It's dangerous, isn't it? Something like tarantula? This wand core isn't illegal is it?"

I waited for him to deny it but his eyes only widened, as if unable to believe that anyone couldn't tell. "It is!" I hissed. "That's why you don't need my money! Because this wand is worth more trouble than it costs! I'm not going to –"

"But the wand has found its home," protested Ollivander. "It'd wither away if its owner abandon it." In a lower voice, he added, "I was just experimenting. No one had succeeded in claiming ownership of these type of wand cores, so I thought, why not try one last time? Besides, if you don't tell anyone or try any particularly Dark Magic, no one would know its wand core – just say its dragon heartstring if anyone asks. Is this not a good deal? A powerful wand without needing to pay, I promise, if anyone sues you, I'd take full responsibility. Please, fulfill this old man's dream?"

"What dream?" I asked testily, cursing myself for going soft. I _know_ I was nice – even if everyone insisted on denying it.

"I want to make a wand stronger than the rumored Deathstick."

I laughed, momentarily distracted. "Deathstick? Who gave it such a stupid name?"

Ollivander ignored my question, already steering me back to where McGongall was. "The Deathstick goes by many names, such as the Elder Wand, if you prefer to call its widely known name. I'm trying to see which core is stronger than Threatal's Hair and I've never met a wizard or witch wielding a wand with an Acromantula's web as a core. Using a wand with this core has been illegal in Britain since 1782, after it was discovered that the wielder of an Acromantula web wand has particular ability with Dark magics, especially the Imperius curse – ridiculous, I say, our dumb Ministry's just trying to stamp out talent. There _are_ certain diplomatic exceptions, as it is a traditional core for Asian wands, but even those are temporary, and many wizard diplomats on long-term assignments find themselves procuring replacement wands for their stay."

"I'm starting to feel like I should handle this with surgery gloves," I muttered as we stumbled back to where McGonagall was eyeing us suspiciously.

"Have a nice day! Do keep me up to date if that wand causes any trouble – good day!" And he booted us out of his shop.

I hurriedly shoved the wand into the cauldron, out of McGonagall's sight, before rushing after her.

"That took a while," she commented innocently.

Ah, here we go. I knew this sort of commentary – and where adults would tactfully steer it to. Having lived with crafty matrons who had decades of experience to cheat the truth of troublesome kids, I had learned a lot. "Yeah, many wands rejected me. But I finally found one: spruce and dragon heartstring."

She didn't sound convinced. "I see," she said. I have a feeling that she _didn't_ see.

"Professor – uh, I have a question, why does my hair change color?"

McGonagall's steps faltered; she threw me a glance, as if assessing how truthful I was being. "I see, just the hair color?"

"And eye color, too. It used to turn pink and green and other color." I ran a hand through my purple-black hair. "But I like this color so I stuck with it."

"Wait," said McGonagall, eyes widening. "You didn't – what do Muggles call this? Ah – dye it – your hair, I mean?"

"No, I willed it to change and it did."

"Can you keep doing that?"

"I haven't tried in a long while," I admitted, running a hand through my shaggy hair. "But I can try when I get back to the orphanage." Saying it out loud, I was very sorry to leave Diagon Alley. "Do I have to go back there? Why can't I stay in school or here?"

Something flashed in McGonagall's eyes. "No, you can't. No students have ever been permitted to stay, so yes, you must return to the orphanage during the summer holidays. Should you wish to, you may stay over during the rest of the holidays." I nodded to show I had been listening. "Now, take this – it's your train ticket to Hogwarts."

I took it, scrutinizing it. "There's no platform 9¾ at King's Cross station. Are you sure you got it right?"

McGonagall smiled slightly. "Yes, I'm sure my brain is very much functional. Between platform nine and ten, there'd be a barrier to conceal the train for Hogwarts, run through it." It was the ridiculousness of her instruction that made me believe her. I nodded, folding the ticket carefully and placing it securely in my pocket. "Be sure to be there before eleven, Ms. Rhodes, because the train leaves around that time."

"Yeah," I said, saying nothing else as we maneuvered our way through the Leaky Cauldron, stopping at the entrance of the dark bar. "Is there anything else I should make a note of?" I wondered.

"Ah, yes, you remind me – bullying and fighting will not be tolerated at Hogwarts, Taylor."

It was the first time she used my name and I jerked. I scowled. "Bullying? What makes you think – "

"I've been following you for a day, Ms. Rhodes, to observe how you'd react to the knowledge of magic. I see that you are not aware of your magical potential, you do not know how to control magic properly, but you use others' knowledge of it to intimidate others. You tease, push, degrade and demean others – I believe Muggles and Wizards share the same opinion of what bullying is."

"I promise I won't do it again," I said lightly, silently adding, _not when you're around_. For safety measure, I crossed my fingers behind my back, trying to suppress the simmering anger at being told off. There was always this uncomfortable knot in my chest when people chastise me and usually, I'd be trying to suppress murderous rage – like now.

She didn't look like she believe me. I wouldn't believe myself either – who would admit they were wrong so easily? _I_ certainly wouldn't.

"Shall I walk you back to the orphanage?"

I perked up. "Can you modify memories? I need to make sure Grace didn't see what she thought she did – or else –"

"It's been taken care of, Ms. Rhodes. Muggle authorities will not be a problem to us," said McGonagall firmly.

I raised my gaze to the sky, unable to believe that my life had taken a sharp turn into a completely different alley. "Yeah," I said, sighing. "Can I fly, y'know, or turn into a bird like that one?"

"Perhaps," said McGonagall. "An Animagus – which is what we call wizards and witches capable of turning into animals – can."

"Professor," I said, after a moment's of silence. "is it normal to be able to hear the thoughts of others?"

"Hear thoughts?"

"Yeah, like, you'd know if this person hates your or something even when they're smiling at you – sometimes, I can hear what the matrons are thinking, sometimes I can't. Like with Grace just now, I can't hear her thoughts so I didn't know she wants to throw mud in my face." I scowled. "I wish this ability can be utilized consciously, it's useful to avoid trouble."

"I see," said McGonagall, she was eyeing me, nearly making me squirm. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"I can hear what an animal is thinking, too," I muttered, frowning into the distance. I felt strangely disconnected to the Muggle world now, as if the cars' honk and business-suited people were from another world I was no longer a part of. "But their thoughts are more complex and trying to hear them gives me a headache."

"Hear animals?" Now, McGonagall sounded disbelieving, but she didn't say it was impossible. "Can you hear what they're saying?"

"Course not," I said, mildly surprised, wondering what she was thinking. "Birds chirped, crickets cricked, toads croaked and flies buzzed – I have no idea what they're talking about. I can sometimes glean their thoughts... like, a rat in class wanted to escape, confused, not knowing what the kids are doing to it." I frowned. "But there is one type of animal I can understand..."

"Oh?"

"I'm not very sure, maybe it's my imagination, but I thought I – " I paused, a puzzled expression stealing my face. "What's that sound?"

McGonagall rummaged around in her robes, pulling an old sort of watch from her cloak. An expression of surprise flitted across her lined face. "My, how time flies. I need to go, perhaps we can continue this conversation on a later date. Good day to you, Ms. Rhodes. And remember, no use of magic, conscious or not."

And in the blink of an eye, she disappeared.

I had to blink thrice, rub my eyes, then glance down at my cauldron to make sure I wasn't dreaming.


	2. Chapter 2

**In Three Blinks**

**Chapter 2**

I didn't have to wait long for eleven morning the next day to come. Being an early riser, I was up since eight. I spent the next two hours being disturbingly – as the matrons and caretakers thought it was, I heard – obedient, loitering around the staircase, only trying to trip others or trying to bully the kids into giving me their dessert.

In almost no time at all, I was being sent off to King's Cross station by one of the caretakers who had a decent car – a four-wheeled vehicle that didn't actually break down every three miles. Rebecca Isles was one of the nicer caretakers – she's pretty stoic and apathetic to the kids, she didn't try to befriend us since she's just working part-time – which means that she usually ignore me unless I cause trouble for her.

Rebecca helped me with my trunk where I'd managed to stuff everything in without too much hassle.

"So," she said, brushing tawny hair from her face. "Which platform are you getting to again?"

"Nine," I said promptly, my tone making it clear I don't want to expand on the subject.

Her brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Fine," she said, turning away. "Don't come crying if you got off at the wrong station."

I glanced down at the train ticket I was holding onto tightly. If McGonagall had given me the right ticket and wasn't as senile as she looked, then I was in the right place. Nevertheless, my heart thudded uncomfortably loud in my chest as it always did when I was about to try something new. I tried to walk confidently to the platform, head turning every few seconds to see whether there are any wizards or witches about that could reassure me that I was going in the right direction.

Not paying attention to where I was going, I ran right into someone.

An owl screeched; my thigh throbbed painfully as I staggered back. "Watch where you're going," I spat, rubbing the stinging part of my leg, glaring at the offender.

"Sorry," he said. He had messy jet-black hair and brilliant green eyes behind those dorky round glasses. Now, this description seemed very familiar. I raised my eyes to his forehead, raking it just as he flattened his fringe over the lightning-shaped scar.

"Going to Hogwarts?" I asked.

His eyes lit up. "You're a witch, too?" His eyes lingered on my purple hair – it was purely purple now since I was in such a happy mood and I didn't bother to change it. I nodded. "Cool. You can change hair-colors, huh?"

I smiled sardonically. "And the hero who vanquished the Dark Lord can't? Intriguing. I suppose I must be special then."

There was something in my tone and my smile that he automatically disliked – the voice of a bully – and his eyes narrowed at me. I turned away. "Watch and learn, Potter." Laughing, I snatched his glasses from their perch on his nose and fled, running through the barrier and disappearing through it entirely.

"Stop it!" I heard his distant cry. "Come back here!"

Grinning, I turned just as he stumbled through the barrier. With more force than necessary, I jammed the glasses back onto his nose. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"You could've just told me," he spat, adjusting his glasses, glaring at me.

"Where's the fun in that?"

I couldn't stop smiling: making others feel inferior, feeding on their hopelessness never failed to make my day. "See you later, Potter." I didn't look back to see what he was doing but I grabbed my trunk and climbed aboard the train – the sooner I get to Hogwarts, the better. I found an empty compartment easily enough and plopped down, crossing my legs.

It wasn't long before someone peered into my compartment. He was a round-faced boy and had quite a generous waistline. He looked around before looking back at me shyly. "H-hey," he said. "My name's Neville, can I- can I sit here?"

"No." His face fell before I realized I'd said the wrong thing. "No- wait – come back, you can stay!" I can't believe myself. I had nearly turned away a potential victim. Watching his shattered face when I turned my back on him after he'd gotten it into his head that I was a loyal friend would be priceless. How could I destroy this wonderful opportunity?

"Sorry," I added, laying it off thick. "I was just nervous – I, uh, don't have many friends." Actually, I have none. Somehow, that thought made me feel a strange, twisting sensation from within. I couldn't describe it, just that it made me shift uncomfortably. "Hey, I'm Taylor Rhodes."

"Muggle-born, then?"

I frowned. "You?"

"Pureblood," he said shyly, before hastily adding, "but I don't think less of you or anything!" He looked terrified at the idea of thinking bad of others. Oh, this sort of people were just priceless... My cheeks were a little stiff from smiling so widely. Damn. If my face remained permanently stuck in this mode...

"Good," I said coolly. "Or I would've thrown you off the train." Seeing his white face, I quickly added, "Just kidding." There was a contemplative silence where Neville kept shifting uncomfortably, looking at me every now and then. "You've never seen a Muggle-born before, have you?" He blinked, confused. "You look at me as if I'm some sort of exotic animal."

"No, no, no," he assured me hastily. "I just... never seen people with hair like yours."

I frowned. "Don't wizards change their hair colors everyday if they wish to?"

Neville shook his head. "We usually stick to one hair color, unless you're a..." he trailed off, looking at me doubtfully. "You're Muggle-born, right? Completely sure your parents are Muggles?"

There was that strange sensation in my chest again: twisting and writhing in my gut. I swallowed uncomfortably, wondering if anyone had poisoned me at the orphanage. Wouldn't put it past those brats. "I grew up in an orphanage," I said, starting to get very tired of saying this to everyone I met. Why do everyone eventually bring up the topic concerning parents? Why can't they lay off and stop poking their nose in everyone and their mother's business? "I never knew my parents. I know my mom's name though, Thalia Mauve Rhodes, ever heard of her?"

Neville's pudgy face twisted in concentration. "Uh, I have quite the terrible memory, but I'm pretty sure I don't remember her. Besides, Rhodes' not a wizarding name..." he trailed off, frowning harder. "But maybe she's a witch who married your Muggle-dad?"

"What makes you say so?" I asked.

But before Neville could answer, the compartment door slid open and this time, a girl with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth entered. Her brown eyes swept between us. "May I sit here?" Her voice was full of confidence and was a little haughty. I knew, instantly, that this was someone I would never be able to get along with.

Crossing my fingers behind my back and plastering an empty smile, I nodded. I hoped, with my fingers crossed, that we don't end up in the same House. If I talked to her, I might be able to glean her personality and see which House she'd be Sorted into.

"Hello," Neville offered kindly. "My name is Neville Longbottom."

"And I'm Taylor Rhodes." I nodded politely her way. "Nice to meet you." _Not._

"I'm Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born," she offered, turning her critical gaze onto me. She eyed my hair with distaste. "Is that hair color allowed in Hogwarts? I didn't read about it in Hogwarts: A History so I'm not so sure but in my old school – "

"The discipline teachers would flay us alive," I completed. "I'm Muggle-born, too, raised in an orphanage."

That shut her up rather quickly – like it often did for people. But she straightened up, and said, very solemnly, "I'm sorry."

I also don't get why people keep apologizing either, it wasn't like they were the ones who made me an orphan (the blamed rested solely on my parents' shoulders). I nodded listlessly, tuning them out in favor of watching the passing scenery – the train had left the platform just seconds after Hermione had entered. My hand curled around the yellowed and crumpled note written hastily in cursive handwriting from eleven years ago – the only thing Thalia Mauve Rhodes had left her daughter: a measly statement that she can't take care of her child. No reason, no apologies, no clue – that made my combined curiosity and resentment a very tough pill to swallow.

Mom was either a Muggle or a witch – I don't know about my father and all I could do was wonder.

It was a few hours into the journey and I had yet to speak when a lady – most likely a witch – poked her head into our compartment, knocking. I glanced at her.

"Would any of you like something?"

There were an odd assortment of sweets I'd never seen before and I wasn't too keen on trying. I was extremely picky about food and stuff, what if I was allergic to them? Besides, I had no wizard money. I shook my head. "Not hungry," I said, which was only the half-truth. It was embarrassing to admit that I had no money.

Could I bully kids into giving me pocket money like I did in Muggle-school? Neville might be a possible target, but Hermione wasn't the sort to be so easily used. I had to see more of the kids and interact with every one of them.

Hermione looked interested and picked a few, Neville bought a whole lot more and was only too happy to share them with me. I wasn't too worried about my cheeks flushing in embarrassment because they don't – when I was angry or embarrassed, it was my hair that changes color, not my face, it always remain pasty white like I'd been bathing in chalk powder. Which, despite my occasional bouts of insanity, I never tried before.

"Oh, no!"

I turned to Neville who had dropped his pile of sweets.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione questioningly.

"It's Trevor!" The pureblooded boy moaned, dropping onto his knees to peer under their seats for something. "I've lost him!"

"What is he?" I asked.

"My toad – Uncle Algie gave it to me, if I lost it..." he trailed off, so horror-stricken he couldn't bare to think about it. "I have to find him!" he muttered, more to himself than to us, and rushed out of our compartment before either of us could stop him.

"Shouldn't we help him?" Hermione asked.

"If he still couldn't find it," I said indecisively. "sure, why not?"

Hermione pursed her lips but didn't say or move to do anything. I wondered, for a fleeting moment, why she bothered to listen to me when she could've just marched outside without my consent. I wasn't the boss of her – I wrinkled my nose in confusion, jeez, why were people so weird?

When Neville ran past our compartment for the third time, I decided that it was time to help the poor boy. The look of shining joy on his face was sickening – at least, that was what I assumed the twisting emotion in my chest was – when Hermione and I stopped him from running back, assuring him we'd check the compartments behind while he handled the front.

I kept my eyes out for a toad, wondering if I could get away with dissecting Neville's toad to see what color his blood was. I didn't knock or open any compartment doors like I saw Hermione and Neville did, I just looked in for a brief moment before turning away again. I received odd looks because of my hair but I ignored them, sweeping my eyes around their feet and swishing robes to see any toad.

Neville, of course, forgot to tell us how his toad looked like, how big it was and what color it is. Seriously, if people hadn't constantly call him by his name, he would've forgotten his name too, I don't doubt.

Just as I gave up, about to head back to my compartment, I stopped, running smack-dab into someone else.

The boy had a pointed face with silver eyes and blonde hair, his features were accented by his cruel sneer, which turned to disdain when he saw me. I saw two large blokes behind him and decided, very wisely, to not pick a fight here until I was a pro with a wand – which I swear I will be by the end of this year.

"A filthy Mudblood," he sneered, his eyes lingering – like everybody else – on my purple hair before he shoved me rudely out of his way. I stumbled, falling straight through an open compartment door. I twisted mid-fall, landing on a seat.

I blinked, seeing a gobsmacked redheaded boy gaping at me before I sprang to my feet. I turned. "Potter," I said, trying not to laugh at how his glass was hanging off one ear only. "Nice catch."

He scowled at me, rubbing his red nose where I had hit him. "Watch where you're going."

"I was just wondering if you've seen a toad."

"A bushy haired girl asked us the same and we said we didn't see one," The Weasley – if the red hair and freckles were anything to go by – said, sounding as if he was having a hard time not laughing.

My eyes narrowed at him.

"Well, keep an eye out for it."

"Oh, we will, all right," growled Potter, adjusting his glasses so that they perched more comfortably on his nose to glare better at me.

Shooting them a sarcastic smile, I headed back to my compartment, silently plotting the demise – er, degradation – of a certain blonde ass.

Mudblood, eh?

I'll show him.


	3. Chapter 3

**In Three Blinks**

**Chapter 3**

"There's five of us."

"I know," I said, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice. "I can count. Can't you? Why are you asking for a confirmation?"

Potter scowled contemptuously at me – in the two times we'd met, I had left bad impressions, and I had a feeling he wouldn't be forgetting about it so soon. His Weasley friend didn't seem to know what to do but since his friend maintained the opinion I was no good, he kept throwing me wary looks.

Hermione noticed, but she was too busy rattling off all she knew about Hogwarts to bother about us. She didn't even seem worried that there were five of us and that we might sink like the gamekeeper implied. Neville was still whimpering about his lost toad to bother about us.

"Just get a new toad," I said dismissively, trying not to sound so bitter when I continued, "Aren't your family filthy rich?"

"But Trevor could never be replaced," insisted Neville.

I frowned at him – unable to understand the knot in my chest at how concerned he was about his toad; I wondered if what I was feeling is contempt – but decided to leave him be to bother Potter and Weasley.

"So, Weaselley – "

"Weasley," snapped Ron, irritation thick in his voice.

"Fine, whatever – how's life as a full-fledged wizard's child?"

He blinked, as if he didn't expect this sort of question from me. "I dunno," he responded finally. "I mean, I live my whole life as a wizard's kid, so it'd be a rather bias opinion from me so I don't know... how's Muggle lifestyle?"

"It won't be as fun or as convenient as Wizard stuff, I guess," I said, wowing everyone by being civil.

"Taylor," said Hermione – as if we're friends. "which House do you want to be in?"

I blinked, surprised by the abrupt question. "Uh... the Hat will Sort us, won't it? There's no point in torturing ourselves about it." I paused. "I just wonder if Sorting us in our first year is the right thing to do."

Hermione blinked, looking scandalized when I questioned the authorities. "What? Of course they're right to divide us in our first year! If not, when do you reckon we'll be Sorted?"

"Hermione," I said, pursing my lips, brows knitting. "people won't stay impressionable eleven-year-olds forever, we _will_ change. Maybe, at the end, we'd be as smart as Ravenclaws even though we're in Hufflepuffs?"

Hermione looked stunned.

I snickered at her dumbfounded expression, elbowing her. "Come on, I was just kidding. In the end, we're still who our choices made us to be."

Hermione scowled at me, but said nothing as she rubbed her smarting forearm where I'd elbowed her. I knew I had considerably physical strength for someone so small but I wasn't sorry. I sprang to my feet a few feet away from the bank, excited, causing the boat to sway dangerously. Potter and Weasley yelled, clutching onto the edge of the boat to steady themselves and hold on. Hermione screamed shrilly, trying to keep Neville from falling off.

She failed; I winced when Neville tumbled in. He flailed hopelessly about before – laughing as I did so – I joined him. The orphanage had organized a trip to the sea once and I had learned how to swim. What can I say? I was a quick-learner and after wheedling the matron, I had gotten her to agree to a deal: I'd behave if I get my swimming lessons.

I felt at home within the water. The cold seeping into my clothes and robes were comforting. I knew some people couldn't see well underwater, but my vision wasn't impaired – sure it was dark, but it didn't sting my eyes and I could see my hand, glowing white against the dark, and Neville's thrashing body.

Ah, right, I didn't jump in here for a swim. I had to save him, don't I? Since I was the one who caused him to fall in the first place. I don't think killing a student on my first day of school would make a first good impression. Kicking my legs, I propelled myself forward, grabbing his robes and pulling him up with me. He was heavy and he was dragging me down so I half-expected us to drown without the help of magic. Fortunately, with one last heave and powerful kick of the legs, my head broke through surface and we were alive.

I felt large hands grabbing me by the waist, and the next thing I knew, I was being lifted into air.

I spluttered a fountain of water; rubbing my eyes, I squinted down at the man holding me up. He was a giant of a man with a long and thick black beard. He had beady black eyes and hair with pinkish skin that told me he was very rarely ill.

I tilted my head to the side, well-aware of a lot of people's stare on me, but water always gave me such a surge of confidence that I didn't care. I was well aware of how wet I was and it was nice. "Put me down?" I suggested sweetly.

He dropped me and Neville who fell on all fours, spluttering and coughing. "Yer 'kay?" The giant asked Neville gruffly, patting him roughly on the back. His eyes were narrowed my way. "Play nice," he added to me in a growl.

"Hagrid, thank goodness you got them both!" said Potter, who was clambering off the boat; Weasley and Hermione followed him, running towards us, concern evident on their faces. My heart twisted but it eased slightly when I realize the concern was directed at Neville. "You're crazy," he told me bluntly. "How _could_ you?"

"I didn't shove him in," I scoffed, rolling my eyes as Potter and Weasley pulled Neville to his feet. "He fell in on his own."

"What's happening?"

I recognized the stern voice at once: Professor McGonagall. Her eyes zeroed in on me as she quickly strode toward me, her hand clamped tightly on my shoulder. I glanced testily at the wrinkled appendage. "It hurts," I muttered but she ignored me. She was scrutinizing the situation.

She was inhaling rather harshly, her nostrils flaring. "In all my years at Hogwarts, there has never been a case of students nearly drowning on a cloudless night, no storms or rains and yet, Mr. Longbottom had nearly drowned." She looked like she wanted to say more but thought better of it and, with a wave of her hand, dried both Neville and I.

"Poor Neville," I said mockingly. "unable to even stand on his own feet."

"Ms. Rhodes, I told you – bullying is not tolerated – "

"He fell in on his own!" I retorted angrily. "Stop being prejudiced and get yourself sorted, lady!"

"Detention!" My jaw dropped, but before I could say anymore, Professor McGonagall had already whirled away in a swirl of tartan colored robes. "I hope you're proud, Ms. Rhodes," she called over her shoulder, still sounding like she had just ran a marathon. "because you're the first student ever to get in detention even before they set foot in Hogwarts, much less get Sorted into Houses!"

And the double doors slammed behind her.

I gritted my teeth. "Can any of you believe her?" I whirled to Hermione who was patting a shaking Neville's arm. She seemed as shock as I was indignant.

"Rer'lly," said Hagrid the Gamekeeper, stroking his beard, chuckling. "ne'er he'rd o' a kid gettin' detention on er' firs' day." He patted me gently on the arm, nearly sending me toppling into the water. "Good luck, kiddo." Apparently, he didn't know his own strengths either.

Scowling, I crossed my arms and fell back as the students followed Hagrid, still whispering among themselves. Some of them threw looks back at me – ranging from disbelieving, awe and amusement. From the back, I thought I saw Malfoy (as I'd learned later from Neville) talking to Potter. I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but before I could elbow my way to the front, Professor McGonagall threw the doors open, considerably calmer but still fuming; her eyes narrowing on me.

"Come," she said.

We followed. I didn't pay much attention, merely concentrating on looking at the ceiling where stars glinted. It was hard to believe that there was a ceiling there and that the Great Hall didn't simply opened up to the heavens.

"- Granger, Hermione!"

I glanced up at the familiar name, wondering if she'd be Sorted into Ravenclaw because she seemed to love books enough to get in. "GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat roared a moment later.

Okay, I was thrown; I was so sure she'd fit right in with the Ravens. I wonder how the Hat chooses... I took in, once more, the tattered edges of the hat. Maybe it was senile as well. Like half the professors were. The Headmaster's beard nearly touched ground. If that wasn't a testament to his old age, I have absolutely no idea what'd prove that I was right and that he's above a century's old.

"Potter, Harry!"

In that instant of ringing silence, I knew that this Sorting mattered the most. He sat there for a while and I saw his knuckles turning white from gripping onto the edge of the chair so tightly.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

I bounced on the soles of my feet, unable to wait for my turn. There was only one person whose last name started with Q and after a few others, I heard Professor McGonagall calling, "Rhodes, Taylor!"

_'Don't join my House, Gryffindor is losing badly enough without another troublemaker'_ – I stared at her, stunned, because that statement was absolutely tactless. I glanced around, realizing that no one was scandalized or even looked like they agree. This had to be one of moments where my mind-reading ability surfaced mysteriously.

_I'll join just to spite you_, I thought gleefully as I jammed the head on my head. Already, Professor McGonagall was my favorite teacher.

_Trouble, trouble_, mused a small voice in my head. I wasn't too startled since McGonagall had told me about this already, but my heart _did_ skip a beat. _And what's this? Oh... ho, I Sorted you once, did I not?_

I was puzzled. _This is my first time here._

_Not in that sense_, answered the Hat cryptically. I felt the surging wish to grab the Hat and burn it for being so damned annoying. _Hm, do you wish to join your – ah, for simplicity's sake, shall we refer to him as your father? So, your father's – old House?_

_You nuts? Wait, answer me this: you knew my dad?_

_I'll take a leaf out of your book, spiting others by doing something on purpose, eh? Your father would not be pleased with this decision; but you_ are _shrewd and ambitious, fiercely loyal too_, the Hat chuckled gleefully._ Very well, then_ – "SLYTHERIN!"

I ripped the Hat off, simmering with anger. I was the only one close enough to hear Professor McGonagall heave a small sigh of relief. I made a face at her but slid off to join the Slytherins. I managed to get a seat at the edge of the bench, noticing that the rest of the Slytherins didn't seem too happy to have me; in fact, their glares were venomous. Must have something to do with my blood, skin and name.

" -Weasley, Ronald!"

I didn't have to wait long for the Hat to roar: "GRYFFINDOR!"

I sighed softly, a little disappointed that I wouldn't have someone to back me up. I knew, from what I'd read and heard from McGonagall that the Slytherins didn't take it kindly when a Muggle-born join them – a half-blood was enough of an uproar, but a Muggle-born? It was a wonder the Slytherins hadn't died from shame the moment I sat at their table.

I didn't pay much attention to what the famed Albus Dumbledore had to say, I noticed though, that someone else had joined the empty seat beside mine. I glanced at the girl, mildly surprised. She had pin straight pale blonde hair and brown eyes; nothing remarkable, she wasn't overly pretty or ugly either, I knew that this girl's name would be one I'd be taxed to remember. Seeing my quizzical glance, she said, "Everyone thinks the Mudbloods should stay together. I'm Sally-Anne Perks, it's nice to meet you is what I'd to say but since we met under unpleasant circumstances..." she trailed off with a grimace, holding out her hand.

I took it. Now, I need as many allies as I can. I know that Slytherins despise Muggle-borns but I'm going to make them regret ever looking down on me. "Taylor Rhodes," I said, smiling amiably. "Muggle parents?"

Sally-Anne shook her head. "My mom was a Muggle-born witch but she married a Muggle anyway, so no difference there."

"I see," I said, glancing discreetly at everyone present. "They can't all be purebloods."

Sally-Anne looked mildly surprised. "Why not?"

"I read somewhere that pureblood numbers are dwindling," I said, picking up my fork, noting that many of the Slytherin students were eating with grace and using both hands. I had absolutely no idea how to hold a knife properly so I decided to use one hand, the other clenching my wand tight under my robes; I didn't trust these guys to not hex me when I'm unaware. My eyes narrowed. "And yet, here are about two hundred students, supposedly Pureblood. Purebloods are like nobles, right? So they must have etiquette and stuff, some of these students, don't."

True, some of the students were talking while eating; others were using only one hand, like I was to eat; some were pretending that they knew how to eat with a knife and were having near misses; I thought I saw a few suspicious knife cuts on a fourth-year boy's hand but I couldn't be sure with how far we were sitting.

"Did the Hat tell you why you're Sorted into Slytherin?" wondered Sally-Anne after a few moments of silence. "The Hat told me I was cunning enough to survive and I had a desire to prove myself."

"It told I was shrewd and ambitious plus loyal," I said, scowling. "I have a feeling we won't be living a life of luxury in the Slytherin Dungeons."

"My mom – she was in Ravenclaw – always told me Slytherins were rotten to the core," said Sally-Anne.

I sneered. "We're part of them now."

"Shit."

I laughed. That pretty much summed it up.


	4. Chapter 4

**In Three Blinks**

**Chapter 4**

We live in the fucking dungeons. It was the worst living condition ever – I respect this Salazar Slytherin, sure, but he must've hated kids to have constructed our dorms here. I wrinkled my nose in distaste, purposefully lagging behind with Sally-Anne and how the female Slytherin prefect was scowling at us with equal distaste.

Fortunately, the organizer of the dorms must've known a Muggle-born would be tortured badly with the Purebloods if they lived together, since the half-bloods and Muggle-borns were grouped together.

I shared the dorm with Sally-Anne and a bespectacled half-blood – Natalia Lair – who had spiky black hair, with a long braided bang to the side; she had tan skin and vague Asian features and her eyes were brown behind those square glasses. We exchanged no words; she seemed superbly unhappy – most likely with being Sorted into Slytherin or she was always like this.

Our other roommate, Irma Rudolph, was more pleasant and approachable – she was a Muggle-born too and could relate to me more easily. Her messy chestnut hair was an eyesore as she never bothered to comb it, but her strange orange eyes went nicely along with her hair.

There were only four of us as opposed to the rest of the dorms where six or five people would room together, I knew this was because they wanted to pack the 'filthy' blood together and then they wouldn't have to worry about being 'contaminated'.

I was looking forward to staying away from the the common room – Sally-Anne predicted that we'd be hexed before we even get to step foot there.

Fortunately, Sally-Anne's dark prediction that we'd be hexed the moment we enter the common room didn't come true. Or, rather, they didn't have time because then, our Head of House had already swept into the dungeons. His eyes narrowed on us, lingering longer on us. "Ms. Rhodes!" he barked when he saw me. "Stay, we have to discuss your detention."

I stared at him, unfazed. Sally-Anne and Irma exchanged apprehensive looks; they gave me encouraging nods before departing the dungeon for their first class of the day.

Potions, was it? I heard that we shared it with the Gryffindors.

I adjusted my tie as I waited for him to talk; when he said nothing after a length of silence, I finally glanced up. "Sir?" Fortunately, I knew how to be polite.

His eyes were narrowed and seemed darker than usual. His lips were thinning unnaturally in anger; I didn't know what I had done but breathe to spite him. I shifted uneasily on my feet, glancing at him apprehensively then to the exit behind him. "What about my detention?" I prompted.

"You'll be serving it with Filch, the caretaker. Find him to discuss the matter of when." With that, he swept away like an overgrown bat. Gathering my wits, I grabbed my schoolbooks and scrambled after him, knowing that he taught Potions and if I followed him, my chances of getting lost were lesser.

I did not find Potions interesting; scribbling down notes and listening to instructions – boring. I knew that if Professor Snape knew what I was thinking, he'd kill me. The only remotely thing interesting happening was seeing Snape humiliating Potter verbally. I was curious, and was sorely tempted to ask the professor why, but seeing as I'm already serving detention, I decided to give up.

As a Slytherin, Professor Snape didn't pick on me much, but he still made discontent noises when he saw my work. I knew I was doing things at a less-than-mediocre rate but I usually gave no effort when things didn't interest me. I hope Charms after this would be more interesting.

I yawned, grabbing a random ingredient without looking properly – and had it promptly snatched out of my hands.

"Taylor!" hissed Sally-Anne who was paired with me. Naturally, Natalia and Irma were one team – no one else in Slytherin wanted to associate with dirty blood after all. "What are you doing? Daydreaming?"

I stifled another inattentive yawn. "Something like that..." I murmured. Professor Snape seemed to have heard because he whirled on me the next second. I recoiled, but the sound of something sizzling and burning away divided his attention.

I glanced down when I saw movement on the dungeon ground, yelped, and jumped onto my stool. I wasn't the only one, everyone else jumped onto their stool to avoid the burning potion which was eating away at the wooden equipment.

I snickered as one of the Gryffindors led the sniffling Neville out. _Aw..._

The next class was Charms, taught by Professor Flitwick – and the second teacher to give me detention. He had a squeaky voice, and it intrigued me. He looked like an old-looking kid; the first spell he taught us was the Levitating Charm. He looked so light I decided to try it on him and I found that Ollivanders was right; my wand _could_ be overenthusiastic.

I burst out laughing when I saw him hanging upside down; I was sure I'd busted my ribs when I saw his wig flopping over.

"Detention!" shrieked Professor Flitwick shrilly at me. "Detention and ten points from Slytherin!"

I didn't care about the dirty looks I was getting from the Slytherins, too busy suppressing my snickers.

On Tuesday, I had Defense Against The Dark Arts. This was the class I was looking forward the most but it turned out to be a huge disappointment. Professor Quirrell was a nervous, jumpy and incompetent man – rumors had it that he was terrified of his own shadow. He didn't even have the guts to give me detention or deduct House points from me when I purposefully tripped him on the way out of the class.

I disliked Herbology. It meant having to get my hands dirty and getting sweaty and stinky. Professor Sprout was a squat and seemingly friendly woman – until she gave me detention and took points for insulting the lesson.

I had History of Magic on Wednesday morning. Surprisingly, I was able to stay awake and listen through, managing to jot down detailed notes. It was interesting though Professor Binns' fixation on goblins was disturbing – I'd always liked history and ancient stuff. I taunted him once but he just ignored my insolence and went back to his lecture, other than that, the lesson went extremely well. It was first class everyone found me sitting still and paying attention.

I met Professor McGonagall again on Wednesday; her lips thinned when she saw me, but other than that, she didn't express any immediate dislike like Snape did to the Gryffindors, she treated the Slytherins – a collect few who sneered in her face – with just. She didn't look like someone I want to cross in the near future so I kept my mouth shut and paid attention. I find that it wasn't too bad, other than the fact it was boring with no laughter.

Thursday came, bringing Flitwick and Quirrell – two of my favorite teachers to bother. Quirrell was still shifty and terrified around me – but I realize whenever I spoke to him or look directly at him, he constantly averted his gaze to the back, as if hoping that I was looking at someone other than him.

"He looks like he's hiding something, don't you think?" I asked Sally-Anne one day when we pass him in the hallway.

Sally-Anne didn't seem too interested – but that might be because her hand was swelling where a hex from one older Slytherin student had hit her. "Go to the infirmary," I suggested, slightly grateful that she wasn't complaining to me or asking me for help to hex the older kids back – not that I don't want to, just that I don't have the necessary spell, but I knew my wand would do good when it came to hexing others.

Sally-Anne's arm was doing badly, which was why she missed that afternoon's flying lesson we were sharing with the Gryffindors.

I was looking forward to the lesson – especially the part where people would be falling off their brooms and breaking their necks.

Madam Hooch singled me out the moment she saw us. Her golden eyes were as sharp as a hawk's and they were constantly on me.

"I've heard all about you from the teachers, Rhodes," she said, a finger in my face. "Scared Professor Quirrell and Professor Flitwick, yeah? Don't you dare play the same trick on me – I've got my eyes on you."

"I just tripped Professor Quirrell," I said, arching a brow. "What do you mean by the same trick?"

"Levitating teachers are not – "

"I didn't do that to _Squirrel_ – he's a loser anyway – "

"Detention!" Madam Hooch snapped. "How dare you speak ill of a teacher? That rude-tongue of yours need sorting out – one more slight, Rhodes, and I'll be washing your mouth out with soap!"

_Is that even legal?_

I groaned. "With the amount of detentions I've earned, how am I going to get my homework done?" That was a lie. I was doing well in class and I passed up my homework in time – I had the time to do it because I had yet to seek out Filch about the detentions I had accumulated, I was planning on procrastinating till someone dragged me to see him.

"That is your problem, Miss Rhodes," said Madam Hooch stiffly, turning away to face the other students who were watching with varying degrees of amusement and astonishment.

Scowling, I took my place at the very end. The Slytherins had taken the best-looking brooms of the lot, leaving me with the shortest, ugliest and oldest looking broom. I stared at it in deep disgust but with Madam Hooch bearing down on me, I did not dare say anything.

"Hold your hand over the broom and say 'up'!"

My broom jumped into my hand instantly – I saw that this severely depressed the Slytherins (bar the filthy bloods) and Madam Hooch who was obviously wishing I would fail, giving her a reason to reprimand me or kick me out of her class – but it was one of the few that did.

Weasley's broom jumped halfway up before falling down again; Potter was as successful as I was but Hermione's broom simply rolled over; Neville's broom rolled over but made no other movement. I shifted my grip for it to be more comfortably, hoping that my hand wouldn't be splintered.

Madam Hooch went around us, correcting our grips, but she swallowed with difficulty when she saw how I was holding my broom, which was flawlessly – she stomped off in a bad temper, finding nothing to complain about how I was handling my broom. As she had no eyes behind her grey head, she did not see me sticking my tongue out in her direction.

"When I say go, kick off the ground and fly low, perhaps a few laps before returning. After this, if you chose so, you can continue to attend these lessons but if you find this unsuitable for you, you may be excused from every attending this class again."

My answer was obvious: I'm never coming back. I can't wait to get this boring stuff over with.

I mounted my broom, squinting up at the sky, wondering if there were any birds I could terrorize.

"All right – one – Ms. Rhodes, pay attention! – two – stop talking, Ms. Patil – thr – oh, you silly boy, get down here!"

I blinked, snapping out of my reverie when I heard the startled yell. I raised my gaze to the sky again, jaw dropping when I saw Neville Longbottom spinning in the air. In my pocket, my wand tingled. I'd received an owl from Ollivander – who kept constant contact with me to update me about what he could find about wands with Acromantula's web as a core – about this; that my wand was sensitive to Dark magic.

Someone had jinxed the broom.

I ignored how Neville was screaming for help and turned around, keeping a tighter hold on my wand to stop it from flying out of my pocket. Where could someone watch intently without getting caught? I raised my head to look at Neville again, seeing him spinning uncontrollably to the tower.

He dropped like stone the same time I released my wand in shock.

I hadn't seen someone's face; but I thought I saw the tail-end of a turban disappearing from the attic window.

Quirrell had jinxed Neville?

I frowned in thought, ignoring Potter and Malfoy's antics as they mounted their brooms and kicked off – had Professor Quirrell meant to get me but had made a mistake and gotten Neville instead? No... I don't believe he had the guts. I scratched my head in thought; then what was it?

Someone clamped a hand on my shoulder. I yelped, starting. "Ms. Rhodes!" barked Professor McGonagall – since when did she get here? – her eyes narrowed. "Come with me."

"I didn't do anything," I muttered petulantly but trudged after Potter and McGonagall. I followed them back into the castle; McGonagall led us through twists and turns, to parts of the castle I've never been to before, before stopping in front of a door. I saw the nameplate and my eyes widened. "Uh..."

"You have not served detention," said Professor McGonagall shortly, turning and beckoning for Potter to follow her. "You had better listen to Filch, or else..." She trailed off, leaving me to imagine the consequences.

Scowling, I knocked on the door – remembering to be polite at the last second. "Enter!" the caretaker barked from inside, his voice telling me that he was in a bad mood.

His face soured even further when he saw me; I sneered in response. "What have you got in store for me?"

Filch muttered something under his breath – I knew it was not a compliment. "Trouble... trouble... I have no time to supervise you, I've got to chase those Weasley twins away from there... yes – "

I snapped my fingers in his face. "Spare me your evening plans," I said, smiling sardonically. "I suppose I'll be helping you, ah, punish the students?"

Filch cackled. "Inflicting pain on the students – which includes you – is special privilege only for me and Mrs. Norris to share. You, on the other hand, will be cleaning out the trophy room – _without_ magic."

I snorted, crossing my arms, trying not to imagine the pain they will be in once I'm done. "As if you can tell when I use magic." It was just a taunt, to provoke his anger – I did not expect his face to drain of all color. I blinked, slightly confused.

"W-what did you just say?" He demanded, looking at me in utter terror.

"I said, you wouldn't be able to tell when I use magic," I repeated. "You can't cast a Tracking Charm, yeah?"

"H-how did you know I was a Squib?" I didn't know what a Squib was but Filch had collapsed into his chair, shaking and pale. He looked so comical, I couldn't help but snigger. He heard and that snapped him into a fit of rage: "Leave!" he shrieked. "Leave and don't come back!"

I recoiled, already backing away to the door. "I don't even know what's a Squib," I muttered but when he threw his chain whip at me, I ducked out of his office quickly.

I glanced out the window which conveniently showed me the field – it was empty, which meant that the students had cleared out.

I didn't even get to fly; sighing, I resigned myself to attend the next flying class; dimly, I wondered what had Potter gotten for blatantly breaking rules.

I wondered if we'd be spending detention time together.


	5. Chapter 5

**In Three Blinks**

**Chapter 5**

It never ceased to amaze me how fast time flies when I'm at Hogwarts. One blink finds me in the common room, lounging about, ignoring how the Slytherins were either glaring at me or staring, perturbed, at me. No doubt they were wondering why I wasn't avoiding them like the rest of the filthy bloods were – even more disturbed to find me smiling jovially at them.

Only Pansy Parkinson had the guts to confront me – all in all, I didn't think she could be that courageous if she needed the whole House to be present to support her.

"What do you have in mind?" Parkinson demanded, arms crossed, glaring down at me. I suppose she thought she was exuding her superiority.

I wrinkled my nose. "What?"

"Why are you smiling like – like _that_?"

"I wasn't aware it's wrong to smile like that," I said, smiling even wider. "Are you going to run to Professor Snape now? Sniveling to him about how rotten Taylor smiled in the common room, just then?"

Parkinson snarled. "Watch your mouth, you filthy little Mudblood."

"If I'm a Mudblood, I'd hate to see your blood-type."

"I'm a pure-blood!"

"Matters nothing to me," I snorted, shrugging, eyes falling to the book in my lap – but I was alert, tense, wary of what they're about to do when provoked. I knew they laid off me for the first few weeks because they wanted to gauge what sort of person I was – they were ready to push me to my limits. Deciding to give her a little push myself, I added, lightly, "My grades and performance in school are better than yours. Unless I'm mistaken – or we're speaking in different languages – mudblood means dirty blood and since I'm so much more better than you, I'm assuming Pureblood is filthier than Mudbloods?"

Instantly, I knew I had said something very offending because there were a flurry of robes swishing and wands being drawn, all pointed at me amidst Parkinson's insulted shrieks.

"Watch your mouth!" one of the older students shrieked. "I'll hex your mouth off you!"

"You wouldn't," I said, starting to feel I'd gone too far and a little scared plus worried. No one here would be on my side – even the older half-bloods had started pretending like they were purebloods, too ashamed of their real selves. "I'd tell the professors."

"And who'd believe you?" Draco Malfoy sneered, enjoying this. "You got on the wrong side of all the teachers already, they'd probably assume you'd insulted us – on purpose!"

I see no point in defending myself before him – and I'd die before admitting that he was right. So I did the only sane thing when confronted, inexperienced and beyond help, with experienced and incensed Slytherins: I ran.

Having spent most of my life running from bullies and running after victims, I was very quick and agile. I sprang off the couch, gripping my wand, not realizing I'd pulled it out of instinct; I stepped over feet and limbs, ducking when hexes and jinxes flew across the common room.

I heard yells of pain, which meant that the Slytherins had missed their original target: me.

I scurried out of the dungeons, beyond glad that tonight, I'd be serving detention into the night right after dinner. I just wished I had an ideal place – other than the Great Hall itself – to sleep the night away. I loitered about outside the Great Hall and I was one of the first to enter the Great Hall during dinner time.

Natalia, Irma and Sally-Anne sat beside me, human shields against the rest of the furious Slytherins – I always knew I had the talent to inspire ire and annoyance in everyone with my foul mouth. By the time dinner had came to an end, Sally-Anne had promised to meet me in our first class with my textbooks. Natalia and Irma promised to keep my stuff hidden to prevent the other Slytherins from trashing them.

I was grateful they were on my side; I left the Great Hall, a slight spring in my steps as I made my way to Filch's office, wondering, dimly, if this swelling in my chest was what it means to have friends who cared.

The warm and bubbly feeling dissipated, as did the smile, when I saw the number of trophies in the room. Sneering evilly and smugly at me, Filch stalked off with his cat. "Come, Mrs. Norris," he said to his cat who stood.

Unable to resist, I hollered after his back, "You're so pathetic that only a cat would accept you as her husband!"

Filch gasped, whirling around to holler back. Being foreign to the magical world, I knew nothing about the insults he yelled at me – but I still laughed anyway, slamming the door shut in his face and turned to face the crystal trophy cases which glimmered where light caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold down at me.

Sighing, I got to work.

I didn't know how long I was scrubbing the metal surface before the light went out. I was so startled I nearly fell off the ladder I had climbed to work on the trophies high in the shelves. Something cracked, brushing past me; I frowned, turning around to look. I couldn't see anyone or anything but I knew that, just because you couldn't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there.

I descended, reaching for my wand. I strained my ears, trying to hear something. Just as I was about to give up and decide that I was just hearing things because of how tired and sleepy I was, I heard something: footsteps. I leaned against the wall, pressing my ears onto the smooth surface to hear better.

There was more than one person and it wasn't Filch: his footsteps weren't so light and quick.

The door creaked open and someone very familiar peered in.

Smirking, I crept up behind him, clamping my soap-covered hands on the back of his neck. Potter let out a pretty unmanly shriek, quickly stifled it, and whirled to see me.

I laughed, shoving him out of the way and looking out the door where I saw Weasley, Hermione and Neville gathered, staring back at me in shock.

"Come in," I said cheerfully. "I could use the company – or help, for the matter." I closed the door behind them, and darkness consumed us again. Stripes of moonlight outside had given some light but when I closed the door, they needed to wait for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. "What are you all doing here? Me? I'm serving detention."

Hermione closed her mouth that had opened to demand the same of me. I smirked at her – though I doubt she could see me clearly. "Hermione, oh, Hermione," I chuckled, shaking my head mockingly. "I thought you were above breaking rules."

The smart Gryffindor bristled angrily. "I'm not! I was just trying to warn those two idiots" – she pointed at Weasley and Potter who yelped indignantly – "from doing anything rash or they'll be spending some quality time with you."

"What about you, Neville?" I asked, ignoring how Hermione was bristling.

Neville winced, eyeing me fearfully as if I could find a pond to push him into now. "I, uh, forgot the password to get in," he mumbled.

"I heard Malfoy saying something at dinner about getting you all caught by Filch," I said, eyes lingering on Potter and Weasley who stared back defiantly. "You know he's not going to show, right? Whatever it is this meeting was about." I paused, straining my ears. I saw the look of horror on Hermione's face and realized I'd heard right. "And that's Filch coming."

The Gryffindors exchanged looks of horror – glanced hesitantly at me – before taking off. Neville, being the clumsy fool he is, tripped as he ran, running into the ladder – with the bucket of soap and water – which swayed dangerously. I yelped, reaching out to steady it, only for it to crash sideways, knocking down the shelves of trophies.

I winced – crash after crash, the trophies fell. I only had time to catch a shield and drop it when the door flew open, light spilling in.

"Rhodes!" roared Filch who'd came in soon enough to see my outstretched arms catching nothing, and for the end of Neville's bathrobe to slip out of sight. The caretaker did not see the other door in the room closing with a soft click. "How dare you – "

"If you'd just let me use my wand and magic," I said loudly, raising my voice to be heard through his shout. "I _can_ fix this." I narrowed my eyes when he continued swearing loudly. I interjected, "I'll tell everyone you're a Squib." I still had no idea what a Squib was and it didn't cross my mind until I saw Filch tonight.

Nevertheless, the threat worked and Filch fell silent. "Fine," he snapped. "Just fine."

I raised my wand, pointed it at the mess that were the glasses and trophies, and murmured the spell necessary. It was one of the useful spells Flitwick taught this week. The shelves rose, the trophies and shields rising along with it, rearranging themselves – in the wrong order as I don't remember where half of them came from.

I glanced at Filch who was staring in a mixture of contempt, distaste, longing and awe. "I don't know what a Squib is," I said truthfully, drawing his attention to me. "but judging from your reaction, a Squib is someone who cannot use magic, right?"

Filch swallowed, muttering, more to himself than to me. "It's not fair... Muggles are born with magic and yet, I..."

"Am I done here?"

Filch nodded distractedly, still gazing at where I'd repaired the fallen shelves.

I couldn't imagine living without magic, I wondered how Filch had coped, coming from a family full of wizards and witches at that; maybe, just maybe, I'd lay off Filch for a while until he turned nasty on me.

I was crossing the doors out of the Great Hall when it occurred to me that some Slytherins might be waiting to hex my head off. I turned, pushing the door to the Great hall opened, peering in. I was slightly relieved to see that there was no one there. I sat on the Ravenclaw table, wringing my hands, wondering if I could actually sleep here.

The teachers would just assume I came in early if they see me tomorrow morning, I thought, covering my yawn with a hand. I curled up on the bench, laying my head on the hard wood – I was small enough that only my hands would drop to the sides. I was so tired I didn't care what sort of surface I slept on, just that I need to close my eyes.

I was dozing off when someone cleared their throat.

My eyes shot open in alarm. I noticed that the place was still very much dark and I was in the same position as when I had first curled up. I craned my neck, seeing something gold glinting above me. Long, white beard? Check. Twinkling blue eyes? Check. Golden-framed glasses? Check.

The Headmaster was standing there. It took a few seconds for this to sink in and when it did, I was wide awake.

"Shit, yo." I pushed myself up into a sitting position, wanting to cuss loudly, but seeing as I was already in trouble, I didn't think making things worse was a smart thing to do at all.

I swallowed. "Uh... yes?" I offered lamely.

"What are you doing here, Ms. Rhodes?" inquired Professor Dumbledore; he didn't sound mad, which I supposed was a good thing. "Are the dungeons not comfortable enough?"

"Nah, just avoiding... people out for my head."

"From what I'd heard from Professor Snape," said Dumbledore. "nearly all of Slytherin are against you."

I scowled at his feet. "They provoked me – I know, you don't believe me – so, what, a month of scrubbing the floor for detention, right?" I turned away, facing the table, dropping my head into my arms. "Can I sleep now? I swear, I won't steal the table or the bench," I sneered, sarcasm lacing my voice.

I didn't care how rude I was being, it wasn't like this would get me expelled – suspension and detention, sure; I was used to this routine back in my old school. I waited for his verdict, but he just sighed and said, "I've talked to Professor Snape and he's agreed to diffuse the situation. No one will be hexing you till next Saturday, Ms. Rhodes, I'm sure your teacher will help –"

"I don't need help," I interrupted, feeling my pride boiling protest. "I don't need coddling, I can handle them fine myself."

"Like how you handled them this evening?"

There was no bite in this voice but he got me and we both knew it. I gritted my teeth. "I'm going to show them that I'm better than them – some day, they'll be grovelling at my feet for forgiveness, I'd make them all pay and _hurt_–"

"Ms. Rhodes," said Dumbledore abruptly, sharply. I turned, seeing my now-red hair flying. I was pissed off and this old man can screw off–

"I'll chose my own time to screw off," said Dumbledore calmly. My anger dwindled to confusion. How did he know what I was thinking.

"You can do it too?" I wondered. "My thoughts just surfaced in your mind suddenly, right?"

"Not suddenly," answered Dumbledore patiently. "I picked it up, shuffling through what you're thinking – and it has a proper name, Legilimency, which you seem to have an aptitude for."

My hair reddened again; he read my thoughts? _They were private!_ I didn't know why, but I had the sudden urge to kick him and set his beard on fire. I struggled to control myself lest my frustration exploded via accidental magic. "Where can I learn to control it?"

"Hogwarts doesn't teach you that," said Dumbledore, obviously knowing what I was thinking – which teacher would teach this aspect of magic. "And I do not believe any of the staff would teach a first-year."

If he thought I was just going to give up, he was clearly delusional. I looked into his eyes, wondering what he was thinking; even when I concentrated real hard, I didn't come close to brushing his mind. Instinct bid me to drop eye contact if I want to prevent him from reading my mind.

I yawned before any of us could say anything.

"Tired?" asked Dumbledore kindly.

I scowled. "Yeah. I was sure I could've rested well if someone hadn't shake me awake." I shot him a reproachful look which he ignored. "Regardless, I'm not going back to the dungeons." If going back meant apologizing, well... the result wouldn't be pretty.

Dumbledore sighed. "Come," he said and turned away in a swish of robes. I scowled at his back for a while before dragging myself after him. Instead of dragging me back to the dungeons, he led me upstairs. We were on the seventh floor when we stopped ascending anymore.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Here," he said, stopping abruptly before a tapestry depicting ugly trolls. I prodded them with my wand, smirking when I saw them roar in silent protest, trying to squirm away from where I was poking and prodding.

"Taylor," said Dumbledore, his tone made it clear he wanted me to stop this mischief. I did after a particularly hard tap where my wand shot sparks of blue. I hurriedly pocketed it. "Come here, and walk through this corridor three times, think hard of a bedroom."

I frowned at him. "Is this some sort of magical punishment? Make kids walk and think –"

"Taylor."

"Fine," I said, doing as I was told. I strode through the hallway, doubling back again, the need for a bed to fall asleep on overpowering. I stifled a yawn as I came to a halt. My sleepiness ebbed away slightly when I saw a door materializing. "This is your doing, sir?"

"Nope," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "I was just experimenting to see whether or not my theory is true. I came across this room, once, filled with chamber pots when I was in need of a toilet." He smiled at me. "Good night, Taylor."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Wait, you're going to let me stay here – with no punishment or point deduction?" _What sort of Headmaster are you_, I nearly added but caught myself in time. "That's it?"

Dumbledore turned. "Well, what were you expecting?"

"Something cruel and mean," I admitted, glancing at the inviting bed. "Legend has it that you haven't smiled at a Slytherin since the 40's."

Dumbledore chortled. "Really, now?" Then he grew serious. "Taylor, I need you to promise me one thing –"

"Ah-ha!" I leaned against the doorway, smirking. "I knew there was something you wanted in return – "

Dumbledore ignored me, continuing as if he hadn't heard me. "–promise me you would not abuse the magical powers of this magnificent room. Think of this room as a last resort, a safehouse for you to retreat to if you are truly unable to handle the Slytherins – I want you to be a normal student with friends, socializing without caring about blood status and House rivalry – and I want to see you using this room less and less for the same reason you're here now."

I stared at him in shock. I gathered myself quickly, nodding to show that I understood. His eyes softened. "Sleep well, Taylor."

I nodded before retreating into the room, closing it. _I need this to be completely unseen by everyone. I want to be alone. _

I could see no changes from this side, but I retreated to the bed, falling asleep even before my head hit the pillow. My muscles uncoiled; I felt safe for the first time in my life, in this room.


End file.
